


The Wedding

by colectiva



Series: Out of the Blue [1]
Category: Open Heart (Visual Novels)
Genre: Exes, F/M, Language, and writing that scene almost made me lose my sanity as a writer, but depicts a lot of heavy kissing/making out, look they run into each others' exes and it's messy and i love it, not smut, there's salsa dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colectiva/pseuds/colectiva
Summary: The one where Ethan and Mariana run into her ex-boyfriend at her cousin’s wedding.
Relationships: Ethan Ramsey/Main Character (Open Heart), Ethan Ramsey/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Out of the Blue [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147190
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> now let me tell you...this has taken me nearly a year to write. Is it good? No. Will it flop? Probably.  
> But this was so much fun to write, especially the ending. this idea partially grew out of that Pictagram/thirst trapping fic I wrote, where I realised I wanted Mariana’s ex to be somewhere deep in her 2017 feed.  
> The part two will feature Ethan’s ex, Carmen, thanks to a year-old-anon who planted a seed in my brain and this two-part mini-series came together because of it.  
> A long-read, sandwiched between two decadent wafer layers of self-indulgence.

**They’re going to be late.**

Very _very_ late.

But the way she looks in that gown – the navy-blue silk hugging her hips, draping low to reveal the curve of her back, with the slit rising mid-thigh, and the neckline pooling just enough to tease him – it’s worth every private second Ethan can steal.

When he steps out of the bathroom, his cufflinks slip out of his grip, and they clatter loudly on the tiles.

She’s leaning over the vanity, fully dressed, and rummaging around her makeup bag.

“Is that the lipstick that gets…everywhere?”

Mariana meets his eyes through the large mirror, detecting the intrigue in his gravelly tone, her hand inches away from dabbing the burgundy colour to her pouting lips. She catches on, one corner of her mouth tugging upwards. She moves away from the mirror, lips untouched, and lowers the tube— closing it with a definitive _click_.

Turning, she leans back on the dressing table, letting the fabric of the dress work its magic on him—slipping away to allow Ethan to trace the newly exposed skin of her leg with his wandering gaze.

And she’s not immune, drinking in the suit and how it drapes the breadth of his shoulders, the remaining buttons of the white linen still to be done up and giving way to sunkissed skin – calling to be touched.

“Yeah,” he feels a tug at his navel from her sultry rasp. “You remembered.”

Standing this close, he’s lightheaded from the velvety waft of perfume and the sight of her bare shoulders—those flimsy, pointless straps failing to conceal anything, and yet— they _aggravate_ him.

Thin, silk strands getting in the way—impede and deny him a complete view of one of his favourite parts of her. The slopes of her shoulders, with a smattering of dark freckles, soft from the dollop of moisturiser he watched her work into her skin earlier.

“It’s difficult to forget the scandalised looks I got in the changing room the next morning,” he crowds her against the vanity, pleased to hear her shallow breathing already. “You left quite the… _detailed_ … trail.”

The inside of her thigh is warm and the higher he ventures, the more inviting the heat radiating off her becomes. The small breath she sucks in is a result of the memory of the messy streak of lipstick and his wandering fingers— it’s enough to land an arrogant smile on his face.

Unable to stand his smart mouth or the nearness of him any longer, she dives forward, parting his lips with a renewed sense of urgency. Supported by the table, she invites him impossibly closer – clawing at his jacket and the skin beyond his shirt.

Their kiss: all teeth and groans, tugging at his lower lip, and humming his approval at her neediness. She clumsily works the buckle of his belt while he finds that spot behind her ear that makes her sing. His touch travels up her arms, covered in goosebumps from the messy kisses he leaves along her jaw and neck.

He catches a glimpse of them in the mirror. A feather-light finger traces the dip of her spine, and he watches her arch further, mewling her appreciation against his throat. 

Ethan breaks away, only long enough to order her to turn around – because he needs her to see just how worked up she gets for him.

She stares at him through the reflection, breathing shallow, and eyes hooded. His gaze never leaves hers, dipping his head to nip at the shell of her ear. Mariana gasps, backing into the hard lines of his body.

“Look at yourself,” his voice is a low, deep growl.

Looping a finger underneath each thin strap of her dress, Ethan lifts them off her shoulders at a debilitating pace that makes her bite down on her already swollen bottom lip.

But right before the gown, the silk that rocks all sanity from him, can pool at her heels— the insufferable shrill of her phone’s ringtone jolts them back to reality.

The two break apart, panting and readjusting their clothes, before Mariana darts towards the nightstand to answer a sobering call from her family—waiting impatiently for them in the lobby of their hotel.

Maybe that should have been a sign of what was yet to come during their long weekend in Miami.

And every time he thinks: “It can’t get any worse than this,” the universe laughs in his face.

First, they’re late— _of course they are_ — sidling into their chairs after the initial half of the procession has already taken their place at the altar.

And, _god_ , it’s way too hot for an outdoor wedding in Miami… and in the middle of the summer.

Luckily ( _or whatever version of_ mercy _the universe deals_ ), they make it just before the bride walks down the aisle, but not early enough to ward off the stirring quiet murmurs of family and friends. Like a domino effect, guests begin to stare and whisper when Mariana and Ethan settle into their seats.

Mariana tells him to ignore it.

“Everyone’s nosey in my family,” she mutters under her breath, picking up her programme, and crosses her legs without another thought.

Second, Ethan’s left puzzled when they meet the groom (and her cousin) after the ceremony to pass on their congratulations. He’s not sure what to make of the dynamic of the two Esquivel sisters and Iván.

They land joking insult, after joking insult, and there’s not much he can do but stand quietly next to Mariana and pray they don’t enter him unsolicited into this snarky contest.

Until Iván says: “Glad you got my invitation, Dr Ramsey. I wasn’t sure how serious Mariana was about you, but – _hey, lucky you_ – here you are!” and he smirks, giving him a clap to the bicep that feels more like he’s trying to prove _something_ rather than _offer_ his friendship.

Oh, but the third. The third is the real clincher.

The reception is buzzing with lively chatter, fighting to overpower the upbeat tempo of the song coming through the speakers.

People are flooding in and out of the hall through the large doors where the party is starting to spill out to the garden.

Mariana bickers back and forth with her mother. Ylette is trying in vain to get her youngest daughter to wear a pin.

“Ma, no. _I don’t want to take part_ ,” she grumbles, attempting to swat her mother’s fussing hands away as politely as possible. Ethan watches the exchange, trying his hardest to suppress his amusement.

“ _No seas necia_ ,” _Don’t be silly_ , Ylette counters, using a tone only a mother could wield to make their child compliant regardless of age.

Mariana stills, rests her hands on her lap in show of defeat, and stares up at the ceiling. She waits for her mother to finish weaving the flower pin into the silk fabric of her gown.

Ethan leans into the peeved junior fellow, after Ylette shoots him a sly smile and heads back to her place at their table.

He’s about to ask Mariana what that was all about and why her mother is so invested in this pin— but she’s gone rigid.

Something beyond his shoulder captures her attention and her brow creases in confusion. The look is swiftly replaced by a flood of dread, eyes widening and lips parting in shock. 

“Are you o—?”

“ _Shit,_ ” she hisses, a hand landing on his forearm, and she clutches on with a vise-like grip.

Ethan is about to turn around, the pull of curiosity too tempting to resist.

But in a feat of unimaginable strength he didn’t know she possessed, Mariana hauls him out of his seat, mutters an excuse to her parents and sister, and drags him in the opposite direction.

“ _Wait_ —”

Hands tightly clasped together, Mariana navigates them through guests who are too busy drinking and chattering to notice their haste.

She stops at the far end of the hall, tossing one more furtive glance at the crowd.

“Mariana, what’s going on?” He asks half-amused, half-concerned.

“I’m buying me— _us_ time.”

He frowns, any amusement he found in her earlier antics dissipates when he clocks the way she’s shiftily darts her focus from a confused Ethan to the direction they came from.

Before he can open his mouth to ask her to elaborate, she blurts out:

“My ex-boyfriend is here.”

He reels back, all traces of worry fade from his face.

 _Here?_ _At_ this _wedding?_

Fighting the urge to turn around and search the sea of nameless faces, Ethan opens and closes his mouth a few times. He tries to make quick work of the baffling, unfolding scenario. 

“ _Your_ —?”

Mariana nervously toys with the end of her ponytail, gaze still swinging between Ethan and the crowd shielding them from—well, wherever _he_ is.

“My ex from medschool… is here. I had no idea he’d show up but…” she trails off distracted.

Something stirs inside him—something _new_. And albeit they’ve been together for a while, he realises they’ve never _really_ broached the subject of previous relationships.

She snaps her full attention back to Ethan, holding her hands up defensively, and rushes through the next sentence. “There’s no bad blood between us—it, uh… _the breakup_ — that is— was mutual and we stayed friends. We just sort of lost touch over the last two years after I moved to Boston… _uh_ …”

Clearly, there’s something else. Something _more_ to the story than what Mariana is letting on.

He knows by the way she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, then back. She’s also doing that thing where she fidgets with her jewellery. Rolling and twirling the dainty silver chain of her necklace along the pads of her thumb and index.

It’s hard for Ethan to imagine what could be so bad about running into an ex-partner _if_ things ended on amicable terms.

“Okay…” he steels himself for what comes next. “Then why—?”

Mariana releases an annoyed puff of breath, centring herself before finally meeting his eye.

“We broke up because of you.”

His stellar mathematical proficiency tells him the dates don’t align and he shoots her a disbelieving look.

“ _Because of me_? Wait…what are you talking about? How is that even possible?”

She grimaces.

“Uh, _well_ ,” Mariana steeples her fingers, anxiously pressing them together in a near-comical display of anxiety. “We started going out sometime in second year. It was pretty serious until the end of our third year when we had to start thinking about residencies. We were both going to apply to Edenbrook… then we realised only one of us would be successful. And _the reason_ we both applied to Edenbrook—”

There’s a loud whistle and a chorus of cheering as guests recognise the salsa song that starts pouring through the speakers.

“ _Oh_.”

“Yeah…‘ _oh’_ ,” Mariana clears her throat awkwardly. She appears to be fighting off a smile— probably reliving the victory of being chosen for Edenbrook’s residency over her former boyfriend.

Then winces before adding pointedly. “He’s a very big fan of yours, Ethan.”

There’s something gratifying about knowing Mariana secured a placement at her first choice and, due to some serendipitous moment, that Ethan had a hand at making it happen.

Even if it is all the more rewarding it was over her ex.

“We knew we’d be directly competing against each other and that kinda put a damper on anything romantic between us,” she says and frowns as a memory creeps up on her. “ _Although_ , I always got the impression he thought he was sparing me some heartbreak. He seemed pretty confident hewas going land the internship— _anyway_.”

 _Asshole_.

Mariana dismisses the thought with a wave of her hand and looks up at him, tilting her head in question. A lopsided smile tugs at her mouth and he exhales, rubbing away the frown line undoubtedly evident on his forehead.

“I’d be lying if I said I’m not having a bit of a power trip knowing that your ex is a fan of mine _and_ that there’s a very high possibility I tossed his application in the garbage.”

Mariana laughs, playfully swatting at his chest. She reins him in with a teasingly reproachful look. “Stop it. I just wanted to… _debrief_ you in case we ran into him. And, besides, I haven’t really spoken to him since I found out I was accepted into the programme.”

Ethan grins, catching her hand in his, and boldly peers over his shoulder.

It’s pointless.

Not only does he not have a name, he wouldn’t be able to distinguish _him_ in the crowd of unfamiliar faces.

Mariana links her arm through his and gently guides him back in the direction of her family’s table. Her nails run reassuring patterns over the suit’s fabric at his bicep.

“ _So_ , which one is he?”

Curiosity gets the better of him. Who is this mystery man that occupied two years of Medschool Mariana’s time?

Whom would she have deemed a worthy match at 24?

And… _did he love her_? Did she love him? If not, did they get close enough— or an emotion that might feel a lot like what Ethan feels for her?

“Ah…” She falters, slowing down and tensing at his side. “The one talking to my dad?”

Even from their place in the crowd, there’s a clear line of sight to their abandoned seats— where Ernesto is laughing and animatedly conversing with a tall stranger.

Reluctantly, Ethan can make out perfectly coiffed black hair, a dark beard, and a bright white smile. He shakes hands with Ernesto, before he leans over and greets Ylette with a kiss on both cheeks.

Suddenly, Ethan’s very grateful for the air-conditioned hall because the heat under his collar returns ⎼ and it has nothing to do with the Miami weather.

He’s not sure what he expected, but he can picture it vividly.

The way the two undoubtedly locked eyes in a library, during an anatomy lab, or maybe even at a party.

 _Tall, dark, and handsome_ probably shoots her a supposed-to-be charming line and Mariana, _being Mariana_ , perhaps brushes it off—instead, coming up with a quip far superior to whatever opening line he used. And he’s hooked, just like any other unsuspecting soul would be.

Suddenly, Ethan’s annoyed at the imaginary encounter he’s fashioned out of thin air.

Maybe it’s the primal surge kick-starting inside him, but he tightens his hold on Mariana as they approach the table.

“ _Play nice_ ,” she mutters out of the corner of her mouth just before they stop short of _him_.

“Mariana, look _who_ it is!” Carina calls out to her sister cheerily, but her wide eyes convey an entirely different message.

That same primal sensation from earlier overrides logic with raw, hot emotion when Ethan watches the ex-boyfriend turn around, confused at Carina’s slight outburst, and his eyes land— _rove_ — over Mariana.

Up close, Ethan finally gets a good look at him, and while he had a vague notion that this man was attractive even from afar (or just by the stately manner he holds himself) ⎼ he hates to conclude that he is _annoyingly_ attractive.

Full, dark eyebrows arching in question, lower lip rounder and fuller, primly groomed beard, and sparse dark freckles dotting his forehead, cheek, and nose. 

There’s a split second where _something_ flashes behind brown eyes, until his roaming gaze notices her hold on Ethan’s arm. The _infuriatingly_ striking man quickly registers Ethan, giving him an askance look.

His handsome face pinches, eyes narrowing, as he tries place Ethan, but Mariana cuts through the man’s _simple_ train of thought.

“Álvaro,” Mariana nods at him with a smile before meeting him halfway for a polite and swift kiss on each cheek. “Long time no see.”

_And Ethan would like to keep it that way for the foreseeable future._

“ _Maris_!” Álvaro beams, jaw slacking, practically meeting the floor. It takes everything in Ethan to not reach across and snap his mouth shut with a flick of his wrist.

Ethan observes the exchange with less and less than enthusiasm, especially when it means Mariana must disentangle herself from his arm when the greeting evolves into a hug. It doesn’t help that Carina watches the scene unfold, poorly biting back her amusement.

Álvaro holds her at arm’s length to get his fill of her without reservation. “I was just asking your dad how you’ve been. I haven’t heard from you since… _well_ — since you left for Boston.”

Ethan stops himself from letting out the petty laugh bubbling up inside him. He’s busy ignoring the twist in his gut when Álvaro’s fingers wrap around Mariana’s arms – skin on skin ⎼ and the older doctor has a hard time focusing on anything else.

“I’ve been keeping busy. I’m sure you know what it’s like,” Mariana shrugs. She pulls away and returns ( _much to his delight_ ) to Ethan’s side.

She takes a deep breath and turns to looks at Ethan, a quiet plea passing over her face. “Ethan, this is Dr Álvaro Ortiz. Álvaro, this is Dr Ethan Ramsey.”

Ethan really tries not to take too much pleasure in the dumbstruck look across Álvaro’s pretty face— but he does.

He _really_ does.

He basks in it as he extends his hand and offers the dark-haired doctor a steady, sharp handshake.

“Pleasure, Dr Ortiz,” Ethan speaks first, providing a polite smile that’s gone before it fully emerges.

It takes Álvaro multiple seconds to collect himself. He gapes, flitting his attention between Mariana and Ethan – like he’s trying to work out a complex mathematical equation.

“Doctor…” Álvaro clears his throat several times, struggling to come to his senses and stop his floundering. “Dr Ramsey, it’s _such_ an honour. I—we— your _work_ has been so influential to— _this is insane_!”

 _Idiot_ , Ethan thinks, but smiles courteously nonetheless.

Carina is now shielding her giggles behind her napkin and Mrs Esquivel shoots her a disapproving scowl.

Mariana’s nervous laugh interrupts Álvaro’s star struck and breathless spiel. The ever-kind junior fellow sweeps in to save the day.

Instead, she launches into civil- _boring_ -small-talk, asking about his work. He appears to remember she exists and faces her, that same _something_ from before flashing in his eyes.

The fist in Ethan’s pocket flexes for the first time that evening, and he has an inkling – maybe the universe whispering its next joke in his ear – _that this won’t be the last_ _time_.

They fall into easy conversation, swapping short wartime stories. Reminiscing about their time at medschool, embarrassing mistakes during clerkship rotations, and their last two years of residency (Mariana making an active effort not to bring up almost losing her medical licence).

Every so often, in between one of his eye-wateringly boring anecdotes, Álvaro addresses Ethan with that _stupid_ look lingering on his face.

Ethan doesn’t know where the innate distaste for the man stems from, but this niggling⎼ a tugging in his gut that tells him to pay attention to the abrasive (almost physical reaction) he has to the young doctor.

Soon enough, his instincts prove him right. 

Somehow, with near-impressive egotism, Dr Ortiz manages to find a way to direct the conversation back in his favour every time.

If Mariana had a difficult patient— Álvaro did too, but the details of the case are twice as complex and the stakes, suddenly, twice as high.

If Mariana’s research has grant approval, so did Álvaro’s — however, he’s first author on all published journals.

Ethan wonders how much longer they will need to be subjected to this.

And it doesn’t help that Álvaro keeps landing light touches on Mariana’s elbow or shoulder in between terrible jokes.

“I didn’t see you at the ceremony,” Mariana says.

“I know, I know. I missed it. I’m actually on call,” and he gestures at the beeper attached to the band of his trousers. “I _just_ managed to slip away and get someone to cover the next few hours for me. You know I wouldn’t miss Iván’s big day.”

Ethan can’t help the involuntary quirk of his brow.

“You left your patients… in the middle of your shift,” he begins slowly, drawing the attention of the two younger doctors. Mariana visibly tenses as he continues, “to attend… _a wedding_?”

Álvaro frowns, looking to Mariana first before addressing Ethan.

“Well, with all due respect, Dr Ramsey. I didn’t _leave_ my patients. I _handed them over_ to my capable colleagues,” he tries to dispense the tension with a light chuckle. “It’s not like I abandoned them—”

“You might as well have,” Ethan says dismissively, as if the matter warrants no further need for discussion or explanation.

Because to Ethan, such careless and unattached attitudes towards patient care _doesn’t_.

He’ll laugh about this in a month or two, but they stare each other down. Álvaro taking a sweeping glance over Ethan, subtly stepping back and assessing him openly. Eyes wrinkling at the corners as he squints, piecing Ethan apart.

But Ethan stares back, even through the discrete (anxious) squeeze Mariana gives his elbow.

Álvaro opens his mouth to retaliate, but of course— _of course_ —something else crops up.

_Maybe Ethan should start believing in signs._

He seems to have been forewarned enough, he’s just too stubborn to listen.

Iván appears behind them, deals out rushed excuses to Ethan, and urgently grabs Mariana and Álvaro by their elbows. Her cousin says something in rapid-Spanish to the two of them that’s too hurried and vernacular for Ethan’s competency to catch.

Iván shoots Ethan another apologetic look before asking if he could steal them away for a second— throwing up two fingers to emphasise how quick it’ll be.

Nothing about the way Iván addresses Álvaro and Mariana helps ease the knot in Ethan’s stomach. They’re barely a few feet away, but far enough so Ethan can’t hear anything they’re saying.

He drums his fingers on the table, out of rhythm to the upbeat tempo playing. Ethan’s focus rests firmly on Mariana who’s standing with her arms crossed, eyes shooting past Iván’s shoulder to hold his gaze.

She looks unimpressed, which means _he’ll_ be unimpressed.

The word “ _fine_ ” leaves Mariana’s mouth loudly, paired with an exaggerated eye roll. She’s glaring at Iván now.

Álvaro steals a quick glance at Mariana before shrugging and clapping Ivan on the shoulder. They look like they’re about to disperse but Mariana stops her cousin, pulling him back by the neck of his tux’s jacket.

She’s annoyed.

_Why is she annoyed?_

The two have a hasty, whispered exchange before Mariana stalks off in a huff.

She won’t look him until she’s seated next to him again. The bustle of the reception begins to quiet, people make their way back to their tables, and the music has dulled (or Ethan’s finally going deaf).

Carina beats Ethan to the question. “What was that about?”

Mariana folds over her lap and busies herself by tightening the straps of her heels. “Iván, being _Iván_.”

Ethan doesn’t know what that means, but looks to Carina for help, hoping he’s somehow forged enough of a bond with her to explain this to him.

“Iván is a real jokester,” she says the first half to Ethan, before turning back to her sister. “What’s he done now?”

“Tio Luis is too drunk for _la rueda_ so he’s asked if Álvaro and I could step in.”

Hackles raised, he looks to Carina for clarification, but the older Esquivel sibling is too busy staring at Mariana incredulously.

Whatever this _wheel_ _thing_ is, Ethan thinks he’s not going to be happy about it either.

“ _You’re sure Ivan isn’t drunk?_ ” Carina hisses flabbergasted, leaning over the table.

Mariana ignores her and finally faces Ethan, with an apologetic and worried frown, completely abandoning the task of her shoes.

“What’s…going on?” Ethan mutters slowly, noticing the way the lights are beginning to dim. “What’s _the wheel_?”

“Have you ever been square dancing?”

He knows she’s attempting to make light of the situation for his sake, but his frown deepens. Mariana drops the pretence and exhales an unsteady restless breath.

“Well, it’s nothing like that,” she shakes her head, unsure where she was going with that joke. “It’s salsa dancing— but on cardiotonic drugs. Basically, Iván pulled me aside to tell me his dad is too drunk to take part, and my aunt is busy taking care of him. So, he’s asked Álvaro and me to step in… since we’ve danced a salsa _rueda—wheel…_ thing… before.”

Ethan’s stomach sinks, hard lines etching onto his face, and the hand atop the table tightens instinctively. No matter how hard he tries to not let his disappointment show, it seeps into the singular syllable of his response.

“ _Oh_?”

Reaching for his hand, the one currently curling into a fist, she whispers something reassuring. But his heart beats with newfound contempt; the blood rushing though his ears distracting him from the soft touch she lands on the inside of his wrist.

He’s embarrassing himself, reacting so discernibly to the thought of Mariana and her ex dancing together.

Ethan’s not sure where it comes from.

He has never considered himself a _jealous_ person before this evening.

And yet, here he is, envisioning _tall, dark, and handsome_ getting his fill of the talented junior fellow’s attention.

“Trust me, I had no plans on embarrassing myself this early in our relationship, but it’s Iván’s wedding. He’s like a second brother to me, so I said yes… I told him he owes me _big time_ ,” Mariana tosses a glimpse to the rest of her family, who are politely giving them space. Carina has assigned herself the task of explaining to her parents the latest in Iván’s buffoonery.

“I’m so sorry,” and the sincerity in her tone almost makes his resolve crumble, adding encouragingly: “It’s _one_ song and I’ll be back here before you know it— making you uncomfortable with all night with terrible, dirty jokes.”

Her thumb skates over the back of his stiff hand and a free one comes up to tenderly stroke his bearded cheek.

 _A hand…that will soon be clasping her ex-boyfriend’s_ — and Mariana feels his jaw tense.

Ethan earns a subdued reprimanding look, and he sighs, remedying their quiet and strained exchange with a soft kiss to her palm.

It seems to do the trick because she beams, with a smile so lovely it nearly diminishes the anger that’s been stoking inside him.

However, it’s short-lived, because the lights in the hall dim further — except for the bright ones crowding the dancefloor where Ivan leads his wife out on.

Mariana pecks his cheek, catching him off guard, and swipes away the dark red smudge. She winks and stands up, ready to head for the edge of the dancefloor where Ethan spots Álvaro waiting for her.

He notices the exchange between the couple and his dark eyebrows knit further in question, studying them with a cursory look over his shoulder.

As Mariana takes off Carina shouts after her: “ _Ojo. Ese huevo quiere sal_.”

_Eye. That eggs wants salt._

_Be careful. Someone wants something from you._

And context tells him, with another unsettling twist in his gut, that Álvaro might be the egg in this idiom.

Ethan doesn’t get the chance to dwell on it.

The first piano notes of, what he deduces from the loud cheering and whistling, a popular salsa song starts up — loud and imposing trumpets blaring through the sound system.

It really is impressive, if he took the time out to admire the performance for what it is— if his girlfriend wasn’t currently partnering off with her former boyfriend, who is _unjustly_ handsome, pressing his body closer to hers so he can speak into her ear over the music.

They’re chatting in their corner of the dancefloor, observing, waiting for their cue like everyone else. Their eyes fixed on the happily married couple dancing in front of them.

_Ethan could crack a crown._

Álvaro’s hand lands on the exposed span of Mariana’s lower back, leading her onto the dancefloor, and guides her to their place in the circle the couples are forming.

His posture is confident, steady – from the angle of his arms, and the eased bend in his knees, to how he draws Mariana close to him, Ethan knows he’s not going to enjoy a single second of this.

The circle of couples starts moving in unison, slow and stable, before building up momentum— hips and arms swaying lazily then purposefully along to the pulsing bass and the hurried conga’s echo.

Álvaro’s free hand meets Mariana’s— his other presses into her back. It’s a firm and expert touch, dictating her movements with ease. Fingers spreading out, palm flattened, and covering the dark freckles there, ones Ethan has come to memorise during Sunday mornings.

She listens with her body, responding to the touches and adapting deftly. Mariana moves where and how Álvaro needs her to without a second thought. Their footwork is quick and light as he leads her around the dancefloor effortlessly— like they’ve _definitely_ done this before.

The group migrates, rotating in an almost-perfect circle. A few steps forward, a few steps back.

Back and forth, back and forth, until someone in the wheel starts calling out orders and directions.

Without a moment’s hesitance, the dancers change their course, alternating the swinging of their arms so they arch – Álvaro creates a clean, smooth curve for Mariana to twirl underneath.

The movement of their bodies – arms, legs, hips, and twisting torsos – fall in line with their partners.

They _recognise_ each other, the space between them radiating a comfort that makes Ethan’s blood run hot.

It’s even worse that she’s smiling, laughing – tossing her head back – as Álvaro chats away. He controls Mariana’s course, pulling her towards his body with no effort, like they did this just the other night and not like the out of touch former lovers they truly are.

That infuriating, charming, white smile never leaves his face.

And it doesn’t help that when he flexes, powerfully twirling and showing her off like she’s still his, Ethan can make out the defined outlines of his physique without the suit’s jacket.

He’s a 37-year-old man, surely, he shouldn’t be feeling… _this way_ … over his girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend’s appearance.

Even more aggravatingly so, Ethan _gets it_.

If Ethan didn’t have the unsurmountable need to wrap his hand around the man’s jaw and force him to look away from Mariana – _or feel this startling superficial insecurity over his own appearance_ – a lingering voice at the back of his head speaks up and says: without a doubt, he’d have caught Ethan’s eye at a bar.

Ethan indulges when he remembers _his_ name never jumped out from the mound of medschool applications he was forced to sift through.

Álvaro spins Mariana until Ethan thinks she might be dizzy if not for the wide grin on her face. The silk of her gown fans out—the slit rising to her mid-thigh drawing him in once more, and the touches they shared this morning seem like a distant and foreign memory.

When the caller shouts an order to swap partners, Ethan doesn’t miss the way Álvaro’s eyes linger on her the entire time she dances with other relatives and friends. Or how Álvaro does not have the same intimate energy with other partners, always holding Mariana a fraction closer, tighter.

They tangle and untangle themselves in a jumble arms, weaving around each other with neat precision.

Ethan loses track of everyone, except for the dark blue gown.

All these awards and titles reduce him to nothing when he realises…he can’t dance _like that_.

A tap on the shoulder momentarily distracts him from the synchronised clapping. Mr Esquivel settles into Mariana’s empty chair and extends a tumbler of chilled amber liquor.

He wears a sympathetic smile on his worn face. “You look like you could use one,” he begins, and Ethan accepts the glass gratefully. “It’s not the best, but it will do the trick.”

Mr Esquivel winks and tips his glass against Ethan’s before sipping cheerily.

A wave of shame sinks into his bones, mortified his girlfriend’s father has taken pity on him…sitting here, seething in his seat like a cantankerous child.

Ethan takes a long pull of the drink— spiced rum leaving a bittersweet trace on his tongue. Its warmth chips away at the persistent knotting in his stomach, the _thing_ that demands to be called jealousy.

Ernesto trains his gaze on Mariana and Álvaro and he smiles, shaking his head.

Ethan uses Mr Esquivel’s attention on the couple as a pretext to keep watching them.

“Are you a stupid man, _Doctor_?”

The blunt nature of the question takes Ethan by surprise, craning his head slightly to regard the older man.

What is he meant to say to that? What sort of answer could Mariana’s father possibly be looking for?

Ernesto nods along to the song, still watching his daughter and her former boyfriend move across the dancefloor. There’s no malice in his tone or expression, it’s like he’s just asked Ethan for the time.

“Am I—?”

“Mariana is the smartest person I know,” he says with a tenderness that has Ethan leaning in to hear him over the rhythmic cowbell. Underneath the statement, there’s a swell of emotion. Her father takes another drink from his glass to right himself and playfully adds: “Álvaro… is a stupid man. He was no good, and Mariana saw that. She knew what she had to do.”

An odd mixture of fear and encouragement muddle together.

“If you are not a stupid man, _Doctor_ —I trust Mariana will know this. So, I would not worry if I were in your shoes.”

Chancing a glimpse at Ethan from the corner of his eye, Mr Esquivel follows his line of sight— unmoving from the former beau’s hand on Mariana’s back.

He chuckles sympathetically and butts his shoe mischievously against Ethan’s.

“I don’t think he can help it,” Her father mulls over his words before continuing. “It’s like…the world, you know, it moves under him when Mariana is around.”

“ _Me explico_?” _Do I explain myself_? Ernesto asks with a rueful smile.

And in that instance, Ethan finds himself excusing the obvious love-sick look on Álvaro’s face. The longing glances he steals when she’s dancing with someone else in the brief moments she’s not in his hold.

He answers Mr Esquivel with a tentative nod.

Because a chilling realisation reminds him that fleeing to the Amazon might have classed him at one point as…not the smartest man…in the Esquivels books.

He could have let her go— lost her— for some _inane_ reason. And, who knows, maybe it would have been Ethan in Álvaro’s place… hopeful for a second of her time.

Mariana said it would be one song, but the piano notes don’t cease. He’s going to have to apologise for making her sit through five hours of that Richard Wagner opera. But this feels infinitely longer—

Until a deafening applause fills the hall and Ethan joins in civilly. Even though he’s fighting through the thick sap of jealousy, evidently bitter, he can’t deny how incredibly impressed he is with her.

And more cheering, clapping, whistling, and a loud “ _Epa!_ ” when a faster, livelier tune comes on over the speakers.

The song sends several guests charging for the dancefloor, flooding it with a mishmash of skill. Even Ernesto excuses himself and escorts Mrs Esquivel for a dance.

It’s not salsa, no, something _bouncier_.

A dance where there’s no space left between couples. Torsos meeting, swaying hips pressing against each other in a tight embrace.

Ethan waits for Mariana, but Álvaro reels her back in by the hand he _just won’t let go of_.

Dark brown eyes go wide, he points upwards, and mouths the words: _“It’s our song!”_

She tries to laugh it off, shaking her head, but Álvaro wraps her up in a similar embrace to the other dancers.

A mass, solid and unforgiving, pitfalls in Ethan’s stomach at the motion— the _nearness_.

Mariana nervously seeks Ethan’s gaze through the crowd and offers him a lopsided smile when she finally finds him— studying her with piercing scrutiny.

But Álvaro turns them on the spot, forcing the older doctor to watch the greedy hand placement once more.

On another occasion, in a different lifetime, Ethan could have liked this song.

He enjoys the medical references of bilirubin spiking when the love interest doesn’t reciprocate the narrator’s look— even though it’s scientifically impossible.

 _Either way_ , Dr Ortiz has ruined any chance of Ethan ever listening to this song again.

Before he can stop himself, Ethan bolts up and stands rigid. Frozen at the table, his fists curl and uncurl.

But he has no plan. Ethan immediately recognises how ridiculous he’ll look. It’s not as if he can smoothly cut in and ask her to dance.

His ego can only take so much of a beating tonight.

Thankfully, right before Ethan can make a further fool of himself— Mariana pulls away after a spin and gently pats Álvaro’s cheek.

She says something to him, with one of those tender smiles she usually reserves for patients when she’s about to deliver bad news.

Finally releasing his hand, Mariana ducks her head and steps off the dancefloor.

Something like relief and frustration wash over him. Relieved it’s over and irate he’s allowed himself to feel this way— _over a dance_.

Álvaro’s attention drifts from Mariana’s retreating figure and through the throng of dancing bodies, until it finds Ethan’s cutting gaze.

One side of Álvaro’s mouth twitches and he shakes his head, but their ridiculous non-verbal standoff is cut short when Tia Beatriz pulls Álvaro in for a _very close_ dance.

Mariana’s pace is brisk, making a beeline for him while awkwardly avoiding his eye, and brushing away a thin sheen of sweat from her upper lip.

“Hey,” she’s clearly still winded from the dance. “Missed me?”

An urgent, buzzing energy surrounds them⎼ dictated by her laboured breathing and her eyes nervously searching his stoic expression.

Both palms brush up the lapels of his jacket before her fingers twine behind his neck. The touch is extremely intimate for such a public setting, but Ethan doesn’t care⎼ flickering his gaze between her and Álvaro (who has now disappeared from view in the crowd of dancers).

She’s here now, and she’s touching him, holding him, gazing up at him.

Ethan doesn’t think he’ll ever figure out what it is about her.

He’s given up fighting it and trying to put a name to the effect she has on him with the simplest actions. How is it possible to disarm him with a touch, a small smile stretching dark red-coloured lips.

“What took you so long?” he jests, hands claiming a spot on either hip.

Ethan supresses the threat of an imminent grin and this only makes her giggle.

“Got tied up with something stupid, _but_ ,” there’s that mischievous twinkle he recognises will one day will lead him to his demise, “I’m all freed up now and wondering if you’d like to get out of—”

“Rana!”

It’s Iván, sweating and jogging towards them with one hand tucked inside his tux’s jacket.

“You’re going to land me in so much shit for this,” he hisses quietly when he comes to a stop in front of the couple— a little too close for Ethan’s liking.

Mariana unwinds her arms from Ethan and glowers at her cousin, leaning in towards him.

“Hand it over,” her tone is cold and sharp.

Iván shoots a look over both shoulders, opens his jacket, and Ethan coughs— caught off-guard.

A pristine, unopened fifteen-year-old Macallan bottle is passed straight into Mariana’s waiting hands. Before Ethan knows what’s happening, his girlfriend tugs open the front of his jacket and shoves the bottle into it.

Ethan clambers to hold onto it, shooting a confused look between Mariana and her cousin.

“If anyone else finds out I got this for you, I’ll never hear the end of it,” Iván says running a hand over his shaved head, still throwing furtive glances around them.

“It’s the cross you must bear for owning a bar, _Flaco_ ,” Mariana grins, patting the bottle through Ethan’s jacket— he _umph’s_ at the sudden pressure against his ribcage.

Iván rolls his eyes. “Please, explain to me how it’s mywedding, yet _I’m_ gifting _you_ a two-hundred-dollar bottle of whisky?”

Mariana flicks his forehead, and Iván protests loudly. “For that little stunt earlier, that’s why— you owe me _big time_.”

A large, shrewd smile spreads over Iván’s face. “Hey, no one said you had to, but you rose to the challenge,” he says, still rubbing between his eyes and turns to Ethan. “And you passed with flying colours, Dr Ramsey.”

Ethan’s brow draws into a deep frown. “Passed—?”

“Bye, Iván!” Mariana grabs his cousin’s shoulders and coaxes him to spin around in the opposite direction. “Enjoy your wedding, you ingrate.”

The groom throws his head back, laughing rowdily as Mariana pushes him to move.

She crosses she arms, shaking her head until her cousin has jogged back to the dance floor where his bride waits for him.

Deeply confused, and as if he’s been drifting into one fever dream after another, Ethan follows Mariana out of the dark reception hall and into the bright and empty corridor.

It’s quieter out here and desolate.

The energetic music is muffled by the large, heavy wooden door that shuts slowly with a gentle _click_.

“Won’t anyone notice we’re gone?” Ethan asks when Mariana takes the bottle from him, examining the label.

She leans back against the wall a few feet away from the door and raises an eyebrow.

“Nervous, Dr Ramsey?” she taunts in a conspirative whisper.

Out here in the hallway, away from the noise, prying eyes of family members, _and a former boyfriend_ — Ethan can feel the prickle of selfish need tempting him as he casts a generous look over her.

The coy, inviting expression she wears, coolly resting against the wall so the slit of her dress falls open once more, and turning over the top-shelf liquor in her grip.

“Just curious how much time we have,” he drops his voice until it’s a gruff and low.

He steps closer, crowding her into the wall she’s propped against and she looks up at him grinning. Her hair is slightly dishevelled, tiny beads of perspiration lay across her nose, and her fringe sticks to her forehead.

Gently, pursing his lips, he blows a cooling breath across her warm face and she giggles, wrinkling her nose.

“I had no idea you could dance like that,” Ethan begins.

His attention pulls to the soft skin of her arm and he runs the back of his hand along it. Smiling, he relishes in the tiny shiver he stirs from her.

“Oh?” She chuckles airily. “Did I not mention it in my Edenbrook application?”

“No,” he laughs, a real one this time. “You didn’t. Forgive me, I shouldn’t have assumed you weren’t a skilled dancer based on one waltz at the gala.”

Ethan leans in, a breath away from her lips, shoes butting, legs grazing. The hand tracing patterns on her arm tips her chin to meet his eye. She looks at him through dark eyes lashes, made darker from fading mascara, she smells of her perfume still and…something else he can’t place.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she whispers shakily, eyes trained on his mouth. “I also didn’t know you could dance until that night.”

Shaking his head, he says: “A basic waltz is nothing compared to what I just witnessed. Maybe, if you felt so inclined, you could humour me with private lessons?”

“I sincerely doubt you could afford my hourly rate,” and he’s just about to kiss her. Kill the agony that lives in the space left between their lips, when she adds: “Besides, Álvaro’s just a very good leader.”

His hand drops from Mariana’s chin and instead finds the wall next to her head, and swallows down the hideous emotion he’s acquainted himself with all night.

Ethan reasons with jealousy, and it fights back with raw emotion, still too tender and reluctant to be addressed.

He can suddenly place the smell now.

A musky sort of fragrance. Spiced and woody.

“He’s also aggravatingly handsome,” Ethan says it through teeth, unaware how tightly clenched his jaw is until the words struggle to form.

Mariana is thoroughly tickled by his reaction, draws back as much as she can in the small space Ethan has backed her into.

“What can I say?” the same gleam of mischief dances behind her eyes. “I have great taste in men.”

He scoffs.

“And he's seemingly a budding comedian from how much you were laughing.”

It just slips out of him.

Ethan didn’t have time to ruminate over the right words or the dwell on making it sound as diplomatic and…mature as he wished he was. It just leaps out of him, out from deep in his chest where it’s lived and occupied too much space.

He thought Mariana would reel back, offended and annoyed at his childish reaction.

Instead, the hallway awakens with a loud, trademark laugh.

“Oh, stop it, Ethan,” her laughter turns into a chorus of giggles, she swats at his chest with a free hand. “He’s just a good friend. I haven’t thought about him in…what? Nearly three years? My mind has been very much occupied by other _very tall_ and _very broody_ matters.”

Ethan rolls his eyes openly, pulling back slightly and coming to terms with the fact his face must be a flushing pink.

Embarrassing. He’s acting like he’s just been stood up at homecoming.

He avoids her seeking ( _very amused_ ) gaze and looks at the hand on the wall.

Then she says it— speaks it into existence— and the weight of it makes his stomach coil tightly in humiliation.

A wave of angry, hot heat trickling down his ears, neck, and shoulders.

“Are you jealous?”

The question is quiet, but Ethan doesn’t miss the teasing cadence to it.

He’s only human. A warm-blooded man, with a tender, fragile heart that’s eager to love her and be loved in return.

It cracks him from the inside out, and his gaze flits to her mouth— where a taunting little smile forms.

“I don’t get jealous.”

In one swift move, Ethan closes the space between them— seals his mouth over hers and cups her face, fingers curling over her jaw.

She smiles into the kiss, responds with a happy sigh that makes the thump in his chest intensify— _he wonders if she can hear it_.

Because it’s hers. It’s always been hers. So she should know its call by now, the way it wishes to quell its speed under her roaming fingers, brushing over the fabric of his dress shirt. When the pads of her fingers skim over it, knocks for her— she should know.

Ethan inhales sharply at the path of her touch traces, travels from his chest, up his neck, and settles at the back of his head.

She must be making a mess, fingers threading into his hair there, pulling him impossibly closer to her, _already so close_ — pressing her further into the wall— and the bottle of whisky wedged between them in her other hand.

One hand moves to the wall to brace himself, the other clasps at her hips through the silky, buttery fabric of her dress, and tugs her until there’s no conceivable space left.

She gasps at the subtle, but decisive movement, and Ethan finds his opening.

His tongue slips into her mouth ( _God, everything about her is so soft_ ) and she reciprocates with teasing bites that make his dizzy.

Her can feel the slide of her lipstick, the familiar lavender-scented cream smearing across his own mouth, his chin, his jaw. And when he sneaks a peek at her in the middle of a brief break for air (before he dives back in and claims her mouth again), Ethan sees the dark red lipstick had indeed gotten _everywhere._

When they break apart— when the demand for air forces them apart, Mariana pulls back and lets out an uncharacteristically bashful giggle.

She attempts to wipe away the mess of makeup on their faces, but they both end up descending into a fit of laughter.

It’s futile.

“Oh no, _oh no_ ,” she chuckles with a desperation that makes him laugh. The more she tries to rub all traces of their heated embrace away, the further it smudges around his face, her face, and it stains fingertips cranberry red. “We should get out of here. I have makeup remover upstairs. That should get rid of this mess.”

His gaze flickers to her neck, where he’s left an evident trail of burgundy-coloured kisses, and smirks— his intrigue falters when he notices the pin of flowers Mrs Esquivel weaved to Mariana’s dress earlier is missing.

“You lost your pin.”

Too distracted by the cosmetic chaos on her fingers, Mariana throws him a confused look.

“My pin? Huh—?”

Then realisation dawns, and she tumbles into another set high-pitched giggles. “Okay, no. Now we _really_ have to get out of here before someone finds that pin. That would actually be more embarrassing than us looking _like this_.”

“You never explained the pin to me,” Ethan asks, absentmindedly trying his best to work out the stain on Mariana’s chin with a thumb.

 _Pointless_. Now, he’s got it all over the pad of his thumb.

“All the single women get a pin gifted to them from the bride,” Mariana begins rolling her eyes. “The first one to lose the pin will be the next one getting married— it’s a ridiculous tradition. But if we go back in there without a pin, _we_ will not hear the end of it… _ever_.”

Fascinated, eyebrows shoot into his hairline and a large grin spills over. At this new tidbit of information, a strange, _new_ , fluttering in his chest needs her wrapped around him more than ever.

He cradles the back of her head, luring her in until he feels her warm breath on his tender lips.

Ethan dips down and kisses her again. He couldn’t care less if he’s painted by the little tube that states it’s Divine Wine.

“Ethan, wait,” Mariana pulls away with a small nervous laugh, seizing a gulp of air. She plants a hand at the lapel of his jacket. “Wait, wait. Someone might see us.”

He can’t help but smirk. The way the tables have turned. Now it’s _her_ eyes nervously darting to the door and _his_ blood running warm, dizzying, in his veins.

A surge of spontaneity claims Ethan.

He couldn’t care less which aunt, uncle, or family friend catches them red handed ( _or red mouthed in this instance_ ). Not when she looks at him like this, when she laughs so candidly and free because of him, when she’s slowly smelling more and more like _his cologne_ rather than—

And he says, between another round of drugging kisses Mariana sighs into: “I hope so.”

Mariana laughs pulling away with a tickled gasp when his beard grazes the spot behind her ear.

“Dr Ramsey, are you trying to stake your claim on me?” He meets her eye. The thought makes him grin wolfishly and she shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re acting like a caveman.”

 _Hmm_.

“Do you have a good hold on that bottle?” He gestures with a little nod to the whisky still nestled between them.

“What— yeah, I— _Ethan_!”

In one swift movement, Ethan crouches and leans forward. His bicep curls over and her thighs in a firm hold, and he effortlessly hoists her up, folding over his shoulder— rear in the air.

Mariana yelps as her world is literally turned upside-down, a free hand flattening against her chest— pathetically doing some damage control for the gap from the fabric at the front of her dress.

 _“Ethan!”_ she repeats a little softer, but the same shock in her voice.

Ethan lands a playful _thwack!_ on her backside and she yelps again in surprise.

The long, inviting slit of her dress falls open right next to his face and he turns, beard tickling her as he playfully nips at the exposed skin with his teeth— teasing him all night, twisting and turning in the arms of another.

She giggles wildly at the sensation, wiggling in his steady hold and heeled feet kicking up slightly — and Ethan grins satisfied.

He kisses the spot. “I’ll show you a good leader,” his breath fans over the skin.

However (because the universe is not _all_ bad), just as he’s about to walk off for the elevator, to take them back to their hotel room, the large doors of the reception hall open.

And out comes Álvaro, beeper and mobile in hand— the rhythm of the cowbell and conga beat, guests chattering loudly, and clapping of dancers spills out into the once peaceful hallway.

Frozen in place, the young doctor stares, eyes widening at sight of the couple.

Ethan stands up straighter, stiff, and clears his throat. A rush of something he would like to call _smug satisfaction_ fills his chest, gives him a powerful headrush he’s sure some will spend all their lives chasing.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s also acutely aware of the lipstick smudged across his face and neck— maybe even onto the crisp white dress shirt.

“Excuse us,” Ethan says briskly with a nod of his head, as if it were the most commonplace occurrence.

 _Piece of sh_ –

From behind him, he hears Mariana ask in a panicked whisper: “Wait. _Who’s there_?”

But he waits to simmer in the intoxicating pull of arrogance. Ethan waits until he walks past a stunned and flustered Álvaro to smirk freely.

Patience can be ever-so-rewarding.

And when Mariana finally gets a chance to register who it is, as her boyfriend strides swiftly past Álvaro ⎼ she gasps in a quiet, mortified hiss: “ _Ethan!_ ”

So, maybe he was a little jealous.

In any case, he has more pressing matters to attend to right now, like using that mirror waiting for them upstairs in the room.

**Author's Note:**

> if this flops… do not look me directly in the eye.  
> I started off strong, got fed up with it, hacked the rest of it …bon appetite.  
> The second and last piece of this series, Carmen, will…not be as funny. That one goes out to all my angst monsters.  
> Anyway, kudos for caveman!Ethan.


End file.
